I Let It Ring

It was just a phone call during dinner.

That’s what makes this whole thing a little embarrassing to admit. With everything else that happens in a school, you’d think I would have something more serious to complain about.

Anyway, I’m Andrew. I’d rather not use my actual name here if you decide to publish this.

I’m in my early fifties, working as a school principal somewhere in New South Wales, Australia. I’ve been in education for over 25 years, although I’ve only spent the more recent ones in leadership.

And here’s something I keep thinking about. I used to be one of those teachers who would call the principal after hours. Sometimes for things that probably could’ve waited until morning.

I never really thought much about what that was like for the person answering the phone.

I never thought much about it.

Usually I had a question about the next day, something I had forgotten to clarify, or something I thought was important enough that I should ask while I remembered.

Now I’m the name people call.

And apparently I have become the person who sometimes stares at that name on the screen and waits for it to disappear.

That happened recently while I was eating dinner.

My phone started ringing beside my plate.

I looked at the screen.

One of my teachers.

I knew I should answer.

I also knew that if I answered, dinner was over.

Maybe not physically.

I could still sit there and chew.

But mentally?

Gone.

So I watched it ring.

And ring.

And ring.

Then it stopped.

I put the phone face down.

That should’ve been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Maybe thirty seconds later…

ringing again.

Same name.

This time I actually picked up the phone.

Not to answer it.

I just held it and stared at the screen.

I even whispered, “Please don’t.”

Like the phone could hear me.

It kept ringing.

I let it stop again.

No message.

No text.

Nothing.

That made it worse.

Because now my brain started inventing reasons.

Maybe something happened.

Maybe there was an issue with a student.

Maybe someone from the department had contacted them.

Maybe something needed to be submitted that night.

Maybe somebody was in trouble.

Maybe…

Or maybe they had simply forgotten something and wanted to ask.

I didn’t know.

That was the point.

If I answered, I would know.

And once I knew, there was no going back to dinner.

So I didn’t.

I kept eating.

Honestly, the food didn’t even taste good anymore because now I was thinking about the call anyway.

Which is stupid.

I didn’t answer because I didn’t want school in my head.

Then school was in my head because I didn’t answer.

Great system.

My phone stayed quiet for maybe ten minutes.

Then a message came in.

“Sir, good evening. Sorry to bother you. Just wanted to ask about tomorrow.”

Tomorrow.

That was it.

Tomorrow.

Not an emergency.

Nobody was hurt.

Nothing was on fire.

Nobody from the department was waiting for some life-changing document.

Just tomorrow.

I felt relieved.

Then annoyed.

Then guilty for being annoyed.

Because the teacher even said sorry to bother me.

He knew it was after work.

He was being polite.

And still…

I didn’t want to answer.

So I didn’t.

Not yet.

I left the message unread.

Well…

unread officially.

I had already seen enough from the notification.

Another thing I do, by the way.

Since we’re confessing.

Sometimes I read messages without opening them when I don’t want the other person to know I’ve seen them.

I swipe down just enough to read the notification.

Sometimes I can get almost the whole message.

Then I leave it there.

No “seen.”

No indication I’ve read it.

So technically I can still pretend I haven’t checked my phone.

That sounds incredibly childish when I write it down.

But yes.

I do it.

Please tell me I’m not the only principal doing this.

I eventually replied maybe an hour later.

“Hi. Sorry, just saw this. What is it?”

Lie.

I saw it almost immediately.

I just didn’t want to deal with it immediately.

And no, I wasn’t busy.

That’s the part I think people sometimes misunderstand.

I wasn’t at an event.

I wasn’t driving.

I wasn’t having some meaningful family moment that absolutely could not be interrupted.

I was sitting on my couch after dinner.

Doing basically nothing.

But I think that was exactly what I wanted to keep doing.

Nothing.

You don’t always ignore work because something more important is happening.

Sometimes you ignore it because you don’t want work to start again.

There’s a difference.

The teacher replied.

Simple question.

Could’ve been answered in one minute.

And yes, I answered it.

Done.

No drama.

But afterward I kept thinking about how much energy I had spent avoiding a one-minute question.

That’s when I realized it wasn’t really about the question.

It was what answering represented.

Once I answer one thing after work, I’m back.

I’m principal again.

I check the date.

Then I remember tomorrow’s meeting.

Then I open the staff group chat.

Then I notice another message.

Then I remember the document I forgot to send.

Then I check my email “quickly.”

Then something else appears.

And suddenly it’s 9:30.

My body has been home for hours.

My head never left school.

I hate that.

And I also know I helped create it.

That’s the uncomfortable part.

Because sometimes I reply at 7 PM.

Sometimes at 10.

Sometimes I answer on weekends.

Someone sends me something on Sunday afternoon and, if I already know the answer, I respond immediately.

So of course people think I’m available.

Half the time, I behave like I am.

Then on another night I see a teacher calling at dinner and feel irritated because they believed the pattern I helped establish.

That’s on me too.

Still…

there are nights when I see a school name on my screen and I just can’t.

I let it ring.

I tell myself:

If it’s really important, they’ll call again.

Then when they call again, I get annoyed because now it might actually be important.

You cannot win with your own brain sometimes.

There was another night a few months ago when somebody called me three times.

Three.

I knew the person.

I knew it was almost certainly school-related.

I was already in bed.

Not asleep.

Just lying there watching something on my phone.

The call came.

I watched it.

Stopped.

Again.

Stopped.

Again.

By the third time I put my phone on silent.

And I remember lying there thinking:

You’re the principal.

What if something is wrong?

Then another part of me said:

If something is genuinely urgent, there are other ways to reach me.

Then:

What if there aren’t?

Then:

Just check.

Then:

No.

It was ridiculous.

The next morning I found out what the call was about.

A staff concern.

Something that absolutely needed attention.

But not at 10:40 at night.

Nothing happened because I didn’t answer.

Nobody was harmed.

The school still opened.

We dealt with it the next morning.

Everything was fine.

And I remember feeling this weird mix of relief and embarrassment.

Relief because apparently not everything needs me immediately.

Embarrassment because I had spent half the night wondering whether refusing to answer one phone call made me irresponsible.

I don’t know when I started believing that responsibility meant being reachable all the time.

Maybe nobody actually told me that.

Maybe I just assumed it.

Maybe it happened gradually.

When I first became a principal, I answered everything because I wanted people to know they could rely on me.

Then I think answering became a habit.

Then the habit became an expectation.

Then the expectation became something I quietly resented.

And that isn’t exactly fair either.

Not to them.

Not to me.

Because how are people supposed to know where the boundary is if I keep moving it?

Monday, I answer at 9 PM.

Tuesday, I’m annoyed that someone calls at 7.

Saturday morning, I reply immediately.

Sunday night, I wonder why nobody leaves me alone.

That makes no sense.

I know that.

But knowing it and changing it apparently are two different things.

There are still calls I will always answer.

You know the ones.

Certain people.

Certain situations.

A call at an unusual time where something just feels wrong.

A genuine student safety concern.

Something that really cannot wait until morning.

Of course I answer.

I’m not trying to become the principal who switches everything off at exactly 5:00 and tells everyone good luck until tomorrow.

That’s not realistic either.

I just don’t know where responsible availability ends and being permanently reachable begins.

Maybe that’s what I’m asking.

How do other principals decide?

And how do you change the expectation after you’ve spent years teaching people that you’ll probably answer?

Because sometimes the phone rings and I know I have absolutely nothing left for that conversation.

So I let it ring.

Sometimes I feel guilty.

Sometimes I don’t.

And maybe this is the part I’m most embarrassed to admit:

Sometimes when it finally stops…

I feel relieved.

Really relieved.

Then I look at the screen one more time, just in case.

And put the phone face down again.

I’d like to know what you think.

Am I setting a reasonable boundary too late?

Am I just avoiding work?

And to the other principals reading this, I’d genuinely like to know what you do after hours.

Do you answer?

Do you have rules?

Or do you also sometimes sit there staring at the phone, waiting for the ringing to stop?

Thank you for giving us somewhere to admit the small things too.

Sometimes those are the ones that are hardest to explain.

— “Andrew”